Promise of Time

by Moore, S. Dionne

  Theo groaned and lay back on the earthen floor of the cellar, feeling very much a prisoner of a different sort than the ones the army demanded. He grinned and reached under his head for the sack and withdrew an apple. At least he would not go hungry, surrounded as he was by the store of vegetables.

  His first bite of the fruit did nothing to alleviate his ever-darkening mood. Mushy on his tongue, the apple was one best used for sauces or apple butter than for snacking. Eating presented another problem as his system awakened to the presence of food. He finished off the apple and sank back against the sack. He would go mad in this darkness.

  With renewed determination, he got to his feet and felt his way to the doorway. Each step brought him closer to the place where the cellar began. It took a minute for him to realize the blackness had receded somewhat and that he could vaguely make out the stone wall he had seen the previous night. When he turned his head in the direction of the cellar stairs, he saw the strips of daylight through the cracks in the doors.

  His heart rejoiced at the prospect of sunlight and fresh air. Of an outhouse. He had to do something and knew he would be able to judge by the place of the sun in the sky what time of day it was.

  Before he could climb the first step, something scraped against the outside of the doors. As fast as his sore feet would allow, he hobbled back to his spot and realized his first duty should have been to find a way to hide himself rather than to feed his stomach.

  The doors swung open and streams of light bounced off the stone wall. He stood stock still, unsure what to do or what to say, for surely the woman was not returning to release more runaway slaves from their hiding place. Not at this time of day. If it was a woman, she would scream upon seeing him, and he couldn’t afford that.

  Able to see the interior of the room now, Theo crouched near the doorway. The whooshing of skirts and petticoats confirming the gender of his visitor.

  He picked up a potato lying in a neat pile and gripped it in his fist. When he figured the woman would be ready to round the corner, he rolled the potato along the floor in her path, hoping to divert her attention and give himself time to come up behind her.

  Her gasp and squeal let him know the ruse had worked. He poked his head around the corner. Her face was turned in the direction of the potato. In an instant he was behind her and pressing his palm over her mouth.

  She tensed.

  “Don’t scream. Please. I can explain, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He hated the fear he was generating and continued to speak in a soothing voice even as his nerves burned. If she got away, if he let go without securing her promise, he knew the consequences he would face.

  “My name is Theodore Lester. We’ve met before. At your wedding. I’m the Southern cousin whose idea it was to hang your wedding bed from the rafters.” He gulped and felt the heat creep into his cheeks, but his candor was rewarded and the terror in her expression melted into wariness.

  She nodded.

  He held his breath as he released his grip on her mouth and backed up two steps to give her room and a measure of reassurance that his intentions were noble. He grimaced at the irony of the thought. As noble as the intentions of a man hiding in a cellar could be.

  “The name is familiar.” Her words were guarded. “Martin’s cousin.”

  “You’re Ellie.”

  Her voice came out strained. “What are you doing here? And why didn’t you come to the house instead of. . .”

  He saw the moment the enormity of his problem sunk into her consciousness.

  “You’re a—a soldier.”

  Theo nodded. “Confederate, and they’ll likely kill me if they find me.”

  ❧

  Ellie studied the man closely, afraid to believe he was who he said he was and afraid not to believe it. The man was admitting to being a deserter. And kin. But he was also the enemy, and she would not soon forget the conceited and bullying ways in which the Confederates had strutted about Gettysburg during its occupation. Horror stories whirled in her head, not to mention the rumors of the way the men had raided other towns for food, with little thought for the people from whom they had taken.

  Yet his lean face and painfully thin frame lent credence to his story. If he had run away, he had been running for a long time. Her gaze swept the length of him, and she frowned at his feet and the sight of blood that saturated the rags that bound them.

  When she raised her face to his, a horrible dread swept over her. She had come down to the cellar yesterday morning for potatoes, and last night, too, though she had not entered the cellar, just the hallway long enough to—

  The thought exploded in her mind. If he had been here last night, surely he would have seen what she had been up to. She willed herself to remain calm. Not to jump to conclusions. He could have found the cellar at any time in the predawn. But the question remained. “Why here? What do you want? Why shouldn’t I turn you over to the authorities?”

  He drew air into his lungs, seeming to draw on some deep-seated reserve of strength.

  When his gaze caressed her face then fell to the ground, her senses knotted, and for a moment she felt the first stirrings of sympathy. But his words, when he finally spoke, crushed the soft feeling beneath its heel.

  “Because being a Southern gentleman, I would mightily despise telling others what your nighttime occupation involves.”

  four

  Ellie shifted her arm so the jar of preserves nestled more firmly against the crook of her elbow. She spewed a stream of air at the still dangling strand of hair tickling her right eye, cast an eye over the cellar doors to make sure they were shut, and marched toward the house with a million thoughts ricocheting around her brain.

  The memory of her wedding day was sharp in her mind. Martin’s crooked grin when he saw her, the light in his eyes when he leaned in to kiss her, their late supper together, both too nervous to eat much of anything. But the faces of the guests were hazier. She remembered Theodore more because of Martin’s talk of his letters and their childhood together. And, of course, the bed incident. She would make sure to take a light with her next time. She wanted to see him and make sure the man was not an imposter bent on wickedness.

  Instead of heading into her side of the house, she went to the door on the other side of the long porch and gave a light knock before entering. Laid out as a mirror image to her home, Ellie had no problem finding the kitchen where Rose stirred up a panful of gravy.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” Ellie said, making an effort to quell her nerves and force a note of cheer that she did not feel.

  “You brought the preserves?” Rose gave a glance over her shoulder, a smile lighting her hazel eyes.

  “Don’t I always bring something?” She bit down on her tongue. The question sounded harsh, even to her own ears. “I mean,”—she forced a light tone—“what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t bring something to add to the meals you so kindly invite me to?”

  Rose patted her hands into a mound of flour and began kneading a trough of dough. “You’re always welcome.”

  She set the preserves on the counter at Rose’s elbow.

  “Peach will go well with the sourdough,” Rose said.

  “I need to get down in the cellar and do some organizing before next year’s harvest creates more confusion. It’s full of cobwebs, too, and needs a good cleaning.”

  “True enough.” Rose’s eyes twinkled. “You always come over with some manner of dust or dirt clinging to you.” Her friend’s eyes were on her hair, and Ellie touched the spot that held Rose’s attention. She pulled out the clinging remnants of a cobweb.

  “Once I get this bread to rising, we’ll eat and I’ll help you tackle that cellar.”

  “No!” She almost choked on that syllable. She forced calmness into her tone and tilted her head to indicate Rose’s swollen stomach. “You shouldn’t be going up and down those steps in your condition.”

  Rose laughed and the paleness of her complexi
on benefited from the exercise, bringing spots of color to her cheeks. She smoothed a hand over her midsection, a soft smile curving her pink lips. “I’m feeling fine. Never better.”

  “Then work on the nursery or that blanket you’ve been so furiously knitting. Going up and down the stairs is best left to those of us who can see our feet.”

  Her friend gave a mock grimace. “But look at what I’ll have to show for it.” Her eyes flashed to Ellie’s and she gasped. “Oh, Ellie, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

  It was a fact that no children would be in her future now that Martin lay dead somewhere in the South. Maybe never. She sent her friend a smile. “I’ll simply enjoy spoiling your girl.”

  “Boy,” Rose corrected.

  Ellie laughed. “Twins.”

  Rose chuckled and dug deeper into the dough, turning it and pushing outward. “I’ll make sure to have a good dinner waiting for you when you’re done down there.”

  “I’ll set the table.”

  Rose swept her hands together and loosed a white cloud of flour into the air. “While you’re doing that, I’ll slice the ham.”

  Ellie did her best to put her heart into the breakfast conversation. It was times like this, when the deeds of the night before seemed to hang heavy in her mind—along with the fear that Rose might have seen or heard something—that Ellie felt most tense. And now she had yet another secret to shield from her friend.

  When she finally excused herself and got the cleaning rags and broom from her own house along with a lantern, she dragged everything through the yard and around to the front of the house that faced the street, alert for prying eyes of curious neighbors. At the cellar, she put the broom against the wall and the lantern on the ground and pulled open the cellar door. She skirted down the steps of the cellar, making a racket as she went. When she reached the landing, she set the things aside and went back up the steps to retrieve the rest. When she finally pulled the doors closed behind her, darkness engulfed her and a shiver went up her spine.

  ❧

  Theo heard the telltale rattle of the cellar doors and swept to his feet as icy dread suffused him. He lunged toward the doorway and picked up a potato, bent on distracting the person as he had done with Ellie. His only option—to give himself time to escape.

  Lord, please let it be Ellie.

  When he thought the person close, he rolled the potato through the doorway and bit his lip.

  “Do you honestly think I’d fall for that again?”

  Ellie. Relief flooded him, and he staggered backward and collapsed. She appeared with all manner of things in her arms. Though he wished to rise and help her, he knew his legs would not hold him.

  “Theo?” Concern etched her tone. He heard the strike of a match and watched as she lit the wick of a lantern then lowered the chimney.

  Shadows fell back and still he felt the weakness, ashamed of it. “You scared me.”

  She held the lantern up and crossed to him. In the light he could make out her features. The same woman he had seen right before the war. Martin’s bride. Then she had been flushed with life and hope for her future with Martin. Now the blue of her eyes held shadows, and her expression seemed weighted by the cares and horrors she had experienced in the interim.

  “We’ll need to set up a signal of some sort so that you’ll know when it’s me coming.”

  Her words brought him a measure of relief. “Are you ill?” She placed the lantern on a low ledge and sunk down beside him. Her cool hand pressed against his forehead.

  He tried to form an answer but could not. He jerked his head away from her touch and closed his eyes. “Nothing food wouldn’t solve. I’m sick of apples and raw potatoes.”

  For a golden moment, her laugh encased him in a bubble of warmth. “I didn’t think to bring anything from the last meal.” She paused and her brow creased. “I’ll have to figure something out.”

  He knew the question he was about to ask seemed pathetic, but he had to ask it for his own sanity. “You won’t tell on me?”

  Her lips firmed and her gaze met his, unflinching. “If you promise not to reveal what you saw.”

  Theo nodded, content in their stalemate. He had made the threat of telling about her night occupations out of desperation. He could never do something so terrible to a lady, and especially not to the wife of his cousin, but she didn’t know that. Let her think him a cad. He had little choice. “Do you keep them every night?” he asked.

  She sat back on her heels, her skirts puffed slightly around her. A lone minute passed as her eyes seemed to focus on the bandages on his feet. She reached out her hand as if to touch the soiled rags. “No. There was a problem and they had to come here. For that reason, I was thinking it would be a good place for you.” She raised her head. “Before you decide to move on.”

  He recognized the steel that had inserted itself into her tone. He was not to let himself get too comfortable in her home and think he could stay.

  “I’ll bring some salve for your feet and bind them with clean linen.” In a smooth action, she got to her feet and brushed at the dirt on her skirts. “For now, I’ve work to do.”

  She moved about the room, rag in hand, kicking up a cloud of dust that tickled his throat. He did his best to keep his eyes elsewhere but would inevitably find himself drawn to her form.

  Bits and pieces of his cousin’s wedding day came into focus. Martin’s laughter that precluded his usual tendency toward stoicism. It had not been hard to see that Ellie’s good-natured personality had drawn Martin out of his shell. Theo recalled, again, the way Martin had talked of her in his letters, with pride and love.

  He wanted to tell her what he had seen. Of Martin’s last moments. Such knowledge would ease her grief but generate a very different pain. That of betrayal. Now that he had seen her, he wondered if telling her the truth was merely his excuse to fly toward freedom or his misplaced sense of duty toward his cousin. If he told her all he knew and handed over the mementos he had secured, there would be no lasting reason for him to stay, and he would be on the run again.

  He closed his eyes and licked his lips. He wanted so much to rest. To be strong again, whole and happy. Unhindered by war and death, friendships cut short by shrapnel or balls or bullets.

  Just a little while. I’ll rest. Then I’ll tell her all I know and move on.

  five

  It galled Ellie to see him lie there, unresponsive and uncaring, while she was working so hard to clean the cellar. Martin would have certainly asked by now, and even if she had turned down his offer of help, he would have done something else to ease her burden. It was the kind of man her husband had been.

  When Ellie sneaked another peek at Theo, she was again struck by the evidence of his weariness. The same telltale marks that she’d seen in the soldiers she’d helped nurse back to health in the wake of the Battle of Gettysburg. Dark circles. Paleness. A strange sensitivity. She’d heard stories from Union soldiers of Rebels stealing boots off dead bodies. Of their strange screeching yell that invaded their nightmares.

  Yet she had tended Confederate soldiers as well and knew that they suffered just as much as the ones they called their enemies. Perhaps more so. Most were more poorly dressed than the Union soldiers. And when they would ask for the result of the battle and learned of Lee’s retreat, a fierceness seemed to overtake them. Or complete resignation.

  Theo’s feet, bound in bloody, old rags, seemed to speak to her of horrors she could not comprehend. Was it so bad that he had to escape? She had no doubt that he had walked hundreds of miles, spent nights hiding in the woods, and it struck her that the runaways she aided probably had it better than a deserter.

  Martin’s letters spoke of scanty provisions and long marches, but the letters he wrote did not often linger on the atrocities of war. He might allude to something, but he would always smooth it over by sharing something funny or personal, a dream he had for them when they were reunited or the memory of a private moment that never faile
d to draw a smile from her.

  Seeing Theo’s face had assured her he was who he said he was, though he was slimmer and the boyish curves of his face had matured into angular planes since their last meeting. His eyes were the same. As soon as the lantern light revealed his silver-gray eyes, it pulled up a clear memory from her wedding day. That of Martin’s cousin standing in the doorway of the barn with the bed dangling high above his head. Those eyes shining bright with mischief as Martin howled with laughter.

  She placed her rag over the bristles of the broom and lifted it to clear a cobweb in the corner of the room. As she continued working, she knew that Martin would want her to help Theo, even to hide him.

  Her arms grew weary of the dusting, and she stopped to survey her work, satisfied with what she saw. She turned when a low groan issued from behind her.

  Theo writhed on the floor like a man in deep pain.

  She went to him and pressed her hand to his cheek. He jerked and the motion startled her back on her heels. She grabbed his shirt to gain leverage, but the thin material rent beneath her touch. She sat down hard on the dirt floor as Theo came up to a sitting position, blinking awake.

  Stunned, Ellie could only stare.

  In a slow movement that betrayed the depth of the slumber she’d woken him from, Theo braced his hand against the floor and stood. If his feet caused pain, his face did not show it. “I’m sorry. Let me help you up.” The slow drawl of his words marked him as Southern more than his appearance.

  “You were groaning terribly. I thought. . .” His hand touched her elbow and guided her upward. Her thoughts scrambled in the second that he steadied her, and she felt the intense desire to draw close to him, even if for a moment. Just to feel once again the comfort of a man’s embrace. She drew in a breath and gave herself a mental shake.